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 A tentative blog to test the temperature. |
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Ten years ago I was writing several blogs on various subjects - F1 motor racing, Music, Classic Cars, Great Romances and, most crushingly, a personal journal that included my thoughts on America, memories of England and Africa, opinion, humour, writing and anything else that occurred. It all became too much (I was attempting to update the journal every day) and I collapsed, exhausted and thoroughly disillusioned in the end. So this blog is indeed a Toe in the Water, a place to document my thoughts in and on WdC but with a determination not to get sucked into the blog whirlpool ever again. Here's hoping.     |
| Advice on Advice I think itās dangerous to read how to books. Especially about writing. Out of curiosity, I sometimes read advice that others have recommended and often find that I agree with the effectiveness of what is being suggested. The relevant word in that paragraph is āagree.ā Thatās the one that makes it dangerous. You see, because I agree with it, I do so because I already employ that technique quite naturally. All the writer has done is make me more aware of it. Being conscious of it can screw with the whole process. Instead of just doing it, Iām now noticing me doing it and attempting to adjust it. For instance, I heard years ago that it was necessary to have dialogue in good writing. And, ever since then, Iāve noticed that I do that anyway. Iāve been able to avoid going overboard on it because Iāve not trusted the advice completely. But it can easily make you put in too much dialogue. Donāt laugh. Reviewing in WdC, Iāve seen loads of writing that kills with pages and pages of dialogue. And I rarely get to the end of such a piece. It becomes boring and can also be confusing, trying to keep up with who says what. The advice should always be everything in moderation. Donāt listen too much to advice and keep all theories employed under control. Itās the mix of many techniques that makes good writing, especially if it comes naturally. Be grateful if that describes your gift and donāt examine it too closely. So donāt listen to me either. Iām just thinking aloud. Word count: 266 |
| Usable Intelligence Recently, I watched an interesting video about intelligence in the octopus. It seems that, in spite of their being so different from us that we might as well be aliens, octopi are remarkably intelligent, perhaps even to the extent of being self aware. It was much later that I began to wonder what the point was. Why would evolution decide to experiment with intelligence in a creature so poorly designed to make use of it? The best I can say of it is that its arms have something approaching the versatility of hands. Apart from that, the octopusā short life span, its preference for isolated living, and lack of vocal chords or some other way to communicate, would surely militate against it using intelligence in a meaningful way. Much the same goes for the other animals that once seemed good instances of possible civilisation-forming intelligence. Iām sure it makes an enjoyable entertainment for them but never became the essential mutation it is for us. So evolution seems to have tried intelligence on several life forms before deciding to put it into the one creature with hands, an upright posture so that the hands are free, amazingly versatile vocal chords, an addiction to communal living, and a life long enough to contribute to a civilisation. It would be a pity if we screwed it up after all that. Word count: 227 |
| Artificial Insufficiency Yes, Iāve noticed the proliferation of AI videos ever since it became āthe latest thing.ā Iām sure itās very clever and all that but the most noticeable thing about the videos (and I mean all of them) is their weirdness. They are united in their total creepiness and I canāt see them ever fooling us regarding their being reality. I think the mistake theyāre making is that theyāre too real, at least visually. Movement is still just too smooth to be believed and this does contribute to the creepiness of the thing, but itās the look that does the real work. Itās almost flawless. Reality just aināt like that. Thereās a certain comfort about its lumps and bumps, its warts and blisters. Itās exactly what Andrea says about CDs and digital music compared to the old vinyl recordings. Musicās not the same without the scratches and and clicks that become part of our experience. They really donāt make things like they used to. Word count: 163 |
| Little Brown Jugger Itās a bit of a bugger. though not a heart tugger, that the serial hugger makes a beeline for me. I would rather play rugger than be forced to mug her. Perhaps escape on a lugger is the best option Iāll see. Line count: 8 Rhymed aaab aaab Sudden inspiration No prompt. |
| I guess someone has to look like me. |
| Nonsense Poetry A song that Iām currently obsessed with is One Headlight by The Wallflowers. Itās a very moody, and intense song but is limited in its stamina because itās short on meaning. The lyrics start out well enough but quickly degenerate into a word salad. This is fine if the music is strong enough (which it is) but thereās a limit to how much meaninglessness we can stand. The human mind cries out for meaning and will insert it even into places where there is clearly no intent at all (a randomly patterned wall for instance). So any painting by Vermeer becomes more valuable and important than a Mondrian. Like it or not, meaning is essential to art and itās not art if itās merely pretty - itās design. And yet I freely admit that, on occasion, I write nonsense poetry. Most frequently this happens when Iām confronted by a prompt that I cannot get inspiration from. In such cases, especially when Iām really desperate, I resort to nonsense. Heck, if Lewis Carroll can do it, so can I. My excuse is that you donāt have to take it seriously. Not all poetry has weight and is intended to last forever. Such things help, itās true, but life is a matter of comic relief along with drama. Shakespeare was the master of this combination. All of which is a way of saying that I may yet write something in reply to the prompt, āLeather,ā but it will be nonsense. I really donāt have that much of a relationship to leather. Since One Headlight was instrumental in providing me with this post, here it is. You can see how much of a story you can glean from the lyrics. Something about funerals, no doubt. Word count: 291 |
| A Stubbled Field Are we not all blackbeards? |
| Got One! Ended the short story drought this morning when I woke up with an idea in my head. "Hamelin" I canāt remember how I began to think on this well known tale but it was easy to turn it on its head. So easy, in fact, that I pondered doing the same to a whole bunch of fairy tales. Who needs inspiration when a simple formula for a whole series presents itself? And that would be a terrible mistake. If you want to be noticed, never take the predictable route. Word count: 90 |
| Of Grandkids and Stuff It occurred to me today that I ought to ask Google about my step grandson. He is currently aged four and the smartest kid Iāve ever known. I considered asking you good folks about the ladās incredible reading ability but then realised that I could just ask Google. And that fount of all knowledge informs me that it is possible for a child to learn to read at the age of three. Which I can vouch for since my step grandson could read by the time he turned that age. So it seems Iām not hallucinating and he is not some freak of nature. The thing is, however, he taught himself. Totally without our help. In fact, we were not even aware of the possibility until he started to read words on the television. Unasked for and often without any way for the word to occur to him unless he understood the principles and knew how the concept worked. We checked carefully by asking him to read things that heād never seen on the TV. No problem - he could read words he didnāt even know the meaning of. Occasionally heād get them slightly wrong in those early days, but it was clear that he was divining the word from the letters as well as its shape. Perhaps the weirdest thing is that he makes no big deal of this. To him itās obviously normal and nothing to get excited about. He reads when he wants to know what is written and doesnāt bother otherwise. Buy him a new toy and he will read the package and tell you what the thing is before heās opened it. At other times he might give no indication of reading things until you ask him. And then he answers with such immediacy that itās clear heās already read it but didnāt think it was worth commenting on. Itās the television, of course. The kind of kidsā shows he watches spend a lot of time saying words and displaying them on screen. And the little feller just has the kind of mind that automatically sees the connection and stores it. Both abilities are apparent in his facility with jigsaw puzzles and his putting jumbled things into groups and collections. So I was going to ask you whether youād ever heard or had experience of a kid learning to read at such an early age. But Google has put my curiosity out of its misery. The kid really did teach himself to read at a ridiculously young age. Iām not a self-deluding old fool imagining impossible events in the real world. Kinda cool to watch the little guy too. Word count: 442 |
| Posting an Advertisement Today I placed an advertisement on the Newsfeed. Although I once had ambitions of getting into the advertising game, I think this is the first time Iāve thrown one at WDC. So the results are fairly amateurish. But advertisingās only job is to shout the name of the product into listening ears and hope it sticks, so this one might work. I used a pretty large font and emboldened it to make it clear that itās intended to be loud. That was a bit boring so I figured I needed an illustration for extra interest. I dug around and found a pic of Pookie - thatāll do it, thought I. She went in. The idea is that people love cat photos. Even writers. So Iām on to a winner right from the start. Add to that the way Pookieās feline stare insinuates itself into human souls and weāre definitely getting somewhere. She tells me that she was actually thinking about butter at the time but what we donāt know wonāt hurt the ad, will it? Anyway, the ad is posted and I now sit back and wait for the thousands to sign up for Jayneās The Daily Poem contest. Canāt fail, can it? Word count: 202 |
un: 
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